


Song and Dance

by Futurebug



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Spoilers, dancer!felix, more angst than fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 15:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Futurebug/pseuds/Futurebug
Summary: In which Felix comes to terms with his new role as a dancer and his feelings for Annette.





	Song and Dance

He could listen to her for hours. 

Her secret songs, her little smiles, the way she would shuffle around as she danced to her own rhythm. She would sing to herself, and he would watch, quietly at first, before she’d spot him and panic, begging for him to keep her secrets. His tongue would turn to lead, and he couldn’t find it in himself to ask her to keep going. Every time he did, she took it as an insult, and would flee in anger, in tears.

So he kept his distance, hidden along walls and in other corridors, her voice only an echo in the halls. In his mind, his heart.

As much as he admired her spirit, there was nothing he could say or do to console that part of her that irrationally feared he was taunting her habits, and there was nothing within him that would allow him to freely speak his mind, to voice his truthful adoration for her joyous hobby.

Nothing, until his professor approached him about the White Heron cup.

He’d been selected, much to his dismay, thinking it the single worst thing that could have happened to him during his education. All of his progress, his fierce devotion to his training, thrown away to suddenly shift to training in the art of dance. 

Dancing. The mere thought of being told to rally the troops, to raise their spirits with a song and dance was humiliating. Even more so was his unexpected victory in the cup. Every fiber of his being was enraged, as though every shred of divinity he’d ever possessed had been destroyed in that verdict. Now he had no choice; the professor was no doubt delighted by this outcome, and had every intent of demanding he become the group’s motivator.

This sort of thing was better left to the object of his secret affections. His beautiful Annette. In his mind, she would have been stunning, her sweet voice rallying the group, her nimble feet carrying her in a graceful dance that would no doubt invigorate even the most exhausted of troops. 

Instead, that burden now fell to him, his dreams of growing his strength lost as he laid eyes on the hideous outfit laid before him. He felt like a joke.

No one was brave enough to say a word regarding the change, at least. His goals may have changed, but his skill with a blade has not, and no one was quite so bold to speak on it, to risk making themselves a target for his wrath.

No one, save for Annette.

“I wanted to be the one to enter the cup,” she admitted one day, her dismay almost mirroring his own.

“It should have been you,” he agreed. “It suits you better.”

Her face was red. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me again.”

He smiled softly. “I am not.”

“Yes, you are! I hate you, Felix,” she sniffled. Was she on the verge of tears? His heart weighed heavy in his chest. He was callous, but never to her, every word genuine. The doubts in her head and his known history of antagonizing his classmates was no doubt to blame for the misunderstanding.

“Ann-“

“You’re my enemy! You stole the one thing I wanted most!”

“I don’t want it,” he said, watching her retreat. He sighed. Now was as good a time as any to redouble his efforts and smash as many training dummies he could in the training grounds. If he was going to look the part of a fool, he may as well make his enemies die ashamed that they’d dared to cross him. 

—-

The next time he stepped on the battlefield, it was donning the damned outfit. He felt exposed, as though he were made a target simply by wearing this. If anyone was so foolish to underestimate him, they’d taste the steel of his blade. He could still kill.

The professor had other plans, her instruction often consisting of demands that he rally his peers. Sylvain has been the first, and his amusement was endless as he watched Felix follow the motions he’d been taught, fluid in everything except for his feelings. His face was stony, no doubt he looked like a man tormented, and Sylvain simply gave him a brief thanks before he and his troops made their next move.

He could have sworn he heard laughter.

His next kill was as quick and efficient as he could muster, all of his pent up rage allowing him to move as though he were a man possessed, his feet as quick as lightning, his sword the clap of thunder to follow. This was what he was made for.

“Felix, please motivate Annette, she’s in a tough spot and could use some help,” the professor said next.

“Why can’t I simply kill-“ Too late to protest. She’d fled to her next target.

He supposed this was cosmic payback, for the supposed torment he’d inflicted on her. If the goddess was real, there was no doubt she was laughing at him, delighting in his misery.

Annette was a merciful woman - more so than the goddess herself, he mused - and said nothing as he made his approach. She looked… exhausted, her usually fresh face and bright smile beaten from her, her lip tinged with blood as she kept her eyes to the forest where the enemy lie in wait. Were he to wax poetic, he’d almost consider her to be a fawn, wide-eyed, trembling in her fear.

“Felix, I can’t-“

“You can,” he said, offering her his palm. “They’re weak. One more blow and you’ve won. I swear to you, you’ll survive. Stand behind me, and attack when you see them.”

She smiled, taking his hand with a newfound vigor. “You’re right. I can do this. I can do anything.”

That’s the Annette he knew, in her whole spitfire glory. Even he couldn’t help but grin. “That’s the spirit. Now go, tear them apart, I’m here to keep you safe.”

Tear them apart she had, her hands working miracles as she drained them of whatever life they’d been clinging to, granting her a moment’s repose as the commander’s troops fled and left the area clear for the time being. Relief for her wounds came from a distance, Mercedes having sensed her need and offering her help with physic.

“On to the next group,” Annette said, waving a hand before she tore off across the battlefield, eager to continue the fight. He could watch her like this forever, his heart decided, his mind recalling images of the many warrior maidens that had been woven throughout Faerghus’ history. 

He’d hated them, everything they stood for. But watching her, he could perhaps understand why they’d become such legends. Perhaps they too were entangled in the tapestry of their land through those that loved them, who wished that everyone could see them in the exact way they had.

The realization hit him hard. He loved her. Hardly a fitting revelation to be had in this place.

He’d always assumed in the unlikely event he would fall in love, it would happen in a cordial setting after ages of courtship, not somewhere out in the wild, soaked in blood.

Perhaps this suited him better. 

—-

When the war was declared, he’d learned to put away whatever reservations he had about dancing. There was no more room for protest, no more room for self-loathing and selfish desires of strength. He would always hate it, but the desperate need of the many were far more pressing than his own desires. So he settled in, knowing what was needed of him.

At least, he thought he had, until the professor approached him with the opportunity to take the certification exam for the swordmaster.

It was everything he’d wanted, and the professor had offered it gratefully. “You’ve learned what you needed to from your time as a dancer. But this is war. I need as many able bodies as I can, the grounds are too spread out, and to allocate resources better, I’ve decided you need to become a more active fighter once again,” she said, handing him the exam. “I expect you’re pleased.”

“Quite,” he admitted, unshaken in his confidence that it was what he was meant to do.

He’d passed the exam easily, and like that, he was made a swordmaster, his dream finally recognized. His classmates were proud enough with him, having just gone through exams of their own, the final sense of normalcy they would have from their school days. It felt… wrong, to be behaving like this, to act as though the day of reckoning wasn’t mere weeks away, and that school was still the driving force in their lives. Still, he supposed it couldn’t be helped. To maintain this fragile air was to maintain the sanity of the students.

All free hours were spent training. Students would come and go from the sparring grounds throughout the week, while Felix remained a constant figure there, only missing from the scenery when he needed to eat or sleep. If he was going to die, he would do so knowing he’d made every effort to reach his peak. He would die for himself. Not as a knight, but as a student in pursuit of his art. To not fear death, to refuse to acknowledge the possibility, was futile at this point, but he would not die for his father’s ideals. Better to have his friends bury him than his family.

Annette would often visit the grounds too, normally without speaking to him for any extensive period of time. But today, she approached him. “You must be happy,” she said after watching his practice, offering him a smile. “You’re finally a swordmaster.”

“I suppose that I am,” he said. “I’ll feel more useful this way.”

“Aw really? That’s a shame. I liked to see you dance,” she admitted. “I think the professor was right to pick you.”

“I thought you were jealous?”

“I was. I’ve never told anyone, but I’ve always secretly wanted to have a career in music.”

“A shock, really,” he laughed.

“Don’t be mean! I really did want it. But I had to give it up. I wanted it, but the only thing I wanted more was to find my father. So I went to the magic academy in Fhirdiad, and I came here. I guess I hoped that if I put away the things I wanted and became someone noteworthy, I could find him,” she said before her eyes widened, realizing what she had said in the face of her self-declared mortal enemy. “Oh! But don’t tell anyone. It’s silly, really. You need to promise-“

“I won’t,” he said. “I promise you.”

“Can I still ask you to forget my singing too?”

“Don’t press your luck.” 

—-

He never knew just how much he missed her until he heard her sing again. A library song, and he was hers once more. His silly little heart he’d thought had died in the brutality of everything that’d followed in the five years since the fall of the Monastery, found new life.

And Annette was still Annette, rashly assuming he was making fun of her when he asked her to finish her song. He knew then and there that he was helpless. He’d never wanted anything quite so much as he wanted her. Skill was all well and good, but he would cast it aside if it meant he could have her voice in his ears forever.

So he, in his lack of ability to voice his feelings, tried.

“It’s like I’m your captive,” he’d admitted. As horribly stupid as he felt saying it, she seemed to understand. 

She allowed him access to that secret world he’d longed to see, filled his ears with the melodies he’d never heard, refreshed him on the ones he’d forgotten in the chaos, and he was endlessly grateful for it. The sunlight filtered in through the glass of the greenhouse, bathing them in a warm glow, protecting their haven. For once in these five damned years, he felt truly at peace.

He would never admit he loved her. To admit it was to admit that he wanted to keep her. As selfish as he felt, he knew she deserved more. She deserved a life with her father, whom she’d finally found. To repair her broken family. To take her away from that goal would be unthinkable.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself. “Now that you’ve found your father, what do you want to do?” he asked, admiring the way the glow of the sunset set her red hair aflame. They’d been hidden here all afternoon. No doubt the others were worried, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I got what I wanted, but it’s not perfect. He doesn’t want to come home, and nothing I’ve said matters.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“He says he’s not worthy, that he should have been there during the Tragedy. Can you believe that?”

“Not worthy?” His old disillusionment with knighthood was rearing its ugly head. That man thought it would have been better to die with the royal family, with his brother… Fury licked at him, taunting him to say things he knew she wouldn’t want to hear, and his lips, too stupid to remain shut, allowed them to escape. “He’s right. He doesn’t deserve you, or your mother. If he wanted to die and leave his wife a widow and his daughter without a father, then he’s right. He’s not worthy.”

“Felix…”

“It’s the damned truth. You gave up your own desires to find this ingrate and all he can tell you is excuses? He doesn’t deserve a daughter like you,” he rambled, unable to stop himself now. “You should be a star. You’ve got talent, and you could have been if that fool-“

“Felix, that’s enough,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you,” he said, more angry than he’d intended. If that man wasn’t going to appreciate her, then he would. He would make her everything she wanted to be, give her everything. 

“You don’t mean that,” she sighed as she stood, brushing the soil from her dress.

“I do. I love you, and I want to share your gift with the world.” Odd how he was only able to speak freely when he was blinded by rage, he mused, before he pushed the thought away.

“Stop it, Felix,” she said curtly. “This was fun, but I think you and I shouldn’t spend more time together off the battlefield. I’m sorry.”

“Annette, please-“

“I’m sorry, but I have to keep trying. He’s my father. I know you don’t like what he believes in, but the fact remains that he’s always going to be my father, and I’m not going to stop trying to bring him back. My mother deserves that much.”

He hated watching her leave. So he shut his eyes, listening to her footsteps and the creak of the door, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. Perhaps he should have gone to the war council, he shouldn’t have wasted his time. Was it a waste of time? It felt that way upon rejection, but those hours prior were some of the happiest he’s had since Glenn died.

He’d just have to accept it as another form of training. One that taught him the valuable lesson of never again opening himself to someone. 

—-

_Thud._

One dummy, shattered to pieces.

_Thud._

Another. And another, and another, until all lay before him in splinters, bearing the scars of his rage. This was what he was good at. Everything else didn’t matter.

From behind him, a voice. “Felix.”

“Professor.”

“You weren’t at the council meeting.”

He sighed, turning to face her. “No, I suppose I wasn’t. What of it?”

“I was worried. Are you feeling well?”

He motioned to the destruction at his feet. “I seem to be in fine form. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ve made a decision. I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“Oh? Then why make it?” he asked as he knelt to gather the evidence of his training.

“Because it’s important.”

“Spit it out then.”

She stalked around him to look him in the eye. “I’ve made the decision that I’d like for you to rally our troops once more.”

“Hmm, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he said, whittling at his lip until it bled, the taste of coppery blood hitting his tongue.

She paused, as though considering his words. “I knew you wouldn’t. But you’re the only one who has experience. We’re going to Gronder, it’s foggy, cold, and there may be people we know there… I think we could use a morale boost.”

“Ask someone else.”

“I’m not asking. As your commander, I’m telling you: I’ve made my choice for the benefit of our group,” she said finally. Her resolve was not something easily broken, and to fight this would be a bitter war he had no chance to win.

“Fine. I’m sure that my old friends will love to see me as a fool one last time before being lowered into their graves.” 

—-

As previously told, Gronder Field was cold, the air dense with a heavy fog as their group slowly made their way forward, anticipating the Empire’s approach, only to be met with fire raining from the heavens. From the rear lines, Felix could feel the nip of the cold on his exposed skin, and hardly hear a damn thing the boar prince was shouting from the front. Something about tribute and killing people, before he sprinted in a mad dash towards the enemy lines.

That was when hell broke loose. The dense fog made it impossible to see where the enemy was, and, more importantly, difficult to tell where his allies were, and the clash of Empire and Kingdom soldiers was creating a maze that was hard to navigate.

Kill anything that didn’t bear a Kingdom shield, anyone that you didn’t know was the enemy. 

The professor seemed… panicked. “Felix, follow Dimitri, I don’t know what he’s doing.”

“Oh? It seemed obvious, he’s clearly only got Edelgard on his mind.”

“I need you to cover him, Hubert is somewhere out there, and Dimitri isn’t exactly adept in magical defense,” she pleaded, cutting down an unknown soldier in front of her. “Make sure he gets out alive, keep him moving.”

“No promises,” he said, making note of where the man was currently charging. The hill, right for the ballista.

The smell of blood was heavy in the air as he made a sprint past the enemy lines to maneuver himself next to Dimitri. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Out of my way!”

“Not in the mood to talk? Fine, keep charging ahead. Just don’t ask me to dance for you to keep you motivated.”

Just up the hill was the ballista, but more importantly, an old face. He knew that girl, Bernadetta. They’d shared meals together from time to time, she’d disarmed him in the knight’s hall. He chuckled under his breath. He supposed be never did get to learn her technique.

And just as quickly, she was gone. A horrifying shriek from her lips pierced the air as she begged for mercy where none would be given. Dimitri cut her down, snatched her bow, and turned his sights off to the distance, a smirk on his face. It was as though he were taunting someone in the fog.

Before this, Felix thought he was ready for the reality of this situation. That people he knew would die. But this… this was beyond anything else.

There was no time to mourn as someone flanked him from the other side, their sword slashing at him in a move he had almost been unable to dodge. The purple hair and tanned skin was also familiar.

“Petra, stand down.”

“This is how it has to be. Please take my apology.”

He couldn’t get a second word in before she slashed at him again, and he was forced to retaliate, leaving her wounded.

With the last of her strength, she made one last motion to attack, and was injured by wind magic from behind him, forced to retreat lest she leave her people without a princess.

“Follow Dimitri,” Annette said, motioning towards his target.

Before he could even answer, the hill went up in flames. Everything hurt, his skin was licked by flames and moving was going to be a battle in its own right.

“Get his Highness off the hill!” he could hear the shriek of the professor from below, motioning for him to keep him going.

“Annette, run,” he pleaded before turning to give chase to Dimitri.

“Stay safe, Felix.” 

—-

A knock at the door. Quiet at first, one he’d almost missed. The sounds in his head were far too loud. Another. More insistent this time.

“Felix? It’s Annette…”

“Go away.”

“Please open this door…”

“Go. Away.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“I told you to leave. I’m not opening the door.”

“Then you don’t have to. We can talk through the door if it helps.”

“I don’t want to talk. I want to be left alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything else in my life.”

He could hear the faint scraping of wood, as though she were sliding down it to sit against it. “I’m not leaving.”

“Fine. Sit there all night. I don’t care.”

The silence between them was suffocating, her little breaths and the subtle sounds of her shifting to settle against his door echoed too loudly.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally.

“Why? You had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m still sorry. People are allowed to feel bad. I know you don’t like to talk about feelings.”

“So you’re saying you pity me?”

“I- you’re being impossible. All I wanted was to offer my sympathy,” she said, her voice cracking, and for a moment he almost regretted his actions.

Once more it was quiet, the words unspoken between them screaming louder than anything else.

“I’ll never forgive him,” Felix spoke once his thoughts gathered. “What he did-“

“Was no one’s fault but that girl’s,” she interjected. “That girl did it. Dimitri has nothing to do with it.”

“I wasn’t referring to Dimitri.”

He could almost feel her incredulous reaction, he knew her so well, he could almost picture the crease in her brow. “You hate… Rodrigue?”

“With everything I have.”

“It’s hardly my place, but…”

“I hate him for it. I’ve never been his priority. And this was his last act to seal the thought. I wasn’t anywhere in his mind when he died. He died for that animal. He couldn’t be bothered to live for the son he never showed any love.”

“Of course he loved you, Felix. He died doing what he believed would keep you safe.”

“Hardly. He died to protect his own vanity,” What more could be said? So many things he knew in his deepest caverns of his conscience, but couldn’t find the words to speak. The hatred he felt was overwhelming, drowning him. His own father had let himself die to give himself the peace of mind so he could face the dead. He put them all above his own living son. His dead king, his dead favored son, and the morally decrepit prince. “He died like a true knight.”

The words were no doubt lost on her. He never told her that story, and he hoped he never would. All the same, the sting in his voice carried his meaning to her. He sighed in defeat, and rested his back against the door. He couldn’t face her, but he couldn’t bring himself to be far from her. It was torturous, to have her here after everything exchanged in that greenhouse, to have her spare him sympathy when he’d crossed several lines she saw as reason enough to remove him from her life. And now here she was, giving him the concern he couldn’t offer her.

From beneath the door, her pinky finger brushed against his. “I’m sorry. It’s hard, knowing your father has other priorities.”

He moved his own finger in response, allowing himself to enjoy that small contact. He could still have his pride, say he never opened the door, but somehow she knew what he needed. “What a pair of despondent fools are we,” he sighed.

“I don’t consider myself entirely devoid of hope,” she said, her head thumped against the door lightly, the tap reverberating to his shoulder. In his bereft state, it felt almost intimate, or at least, as much as one could be with a literal barrier between them. “I can’t allow it. The moment I give up is the moment my family loses all chances of being whole again.”

“And what would be so bad about that?”

Her finger withdrew, and he felt colder for its loss. “It’s too important to me.”

“And you’re too important to waste your life trying to appease him. If he wants to return, he will come to that conclusion himself.”

She scoffed. “Some people need an extra push, that’s all. Not everyone is as self-motivated as you.”

“Annette, I meant what I said before. You’re too talented to waste it, especially on trying to win back someone who doesn’t deserve you. I want to help you,” he said, his mouth dry. He hated this, hated being reduced to a foolish, pleading mess. “Please. Let me.”

“No. Not until I’ve finished what I came here for.”

“And after?”

There was no answer, only the sounds of her shifting to stand.

“Annette, after you’ve gotten what you want, what will you do?” he asked again.

“I need time, Felix. I don’t- Do you even know what you’re asking?” she said, her voice wavered with effort.

“I do. I know what I want,” he said as he drew his knees to his chest. “Do you?”

“I do. I want my family,” she said. “I know your relationship with yours has made it difficult to see my point of view.”

She was right. He loathed that she was right. Maybe he would never agree with her in that regard. He choked, words unable to form in either his brain or his tongue, nothing more than frustration remaining. Anger for his father, anger for hers, anger at himself. So he allowed himself to say it, blunt truth a far quicker death than a thousand cuts by lying to her. “You’re right, maybe I don’t.”

A silent pause. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay tonight?”

“Perfectly fine.” 

—-

The retaking of Fhirdiad was, in his mind, an absolute nightmare. And yet, despite every odd against them, they somehow managed to seize the throne, reclaiming the city as their own. The festivities were overwhelming, to celebrate the return of the boar was to celebrate the monstrosity that would take the throne, and the mere thought was enough to draw ire.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Annette, who was happily flitting about, and her father in the corner of the hall, silent and stone-faced as ever.

Watching him there, silent while Annette tried to speak, to draw him into the celebration was enough to make Felix livid, even more so when he saw her defeated face as she walked away, having to content herself with the others.

So he approached him.

“You. How long do you intend to stand here?” he asked.

Gilbert seemed shocked, as though he were content to blend in with the castle walls. “I have no need to participate. Seeing my king happy is enough.”

“Your king?” Felix scoffed. “What about your daughter?”

“My daughter as well.”

“Are you truly? Is this why you’re refusing to return home? Because you like to see her happy?” he said dryly.

“I don’t understand why you’re approaching me in this manner,” Gilbert said, visibly irritated.

“I do so because you anger me. You should treat her well. She’s a damn good woman, and she became so without your help. Your lack of regard for her bothers me.”

“My past and my family are my own concern.”

“If your family is your concern, why are you avoiding her?”

“You couldn’t possibly-“

“I couldn’t possibly understand? I believe I understand plenty. You’re too wrapped up in your own misery, lamenting your failure as a perfect knight. Yet here you are, again the fool for leaving her behind,” he spat. “You’re like my old man. Too blind to see what’s in front of you by the ghosts you refuse to dismiss.”

“Bold of you to speak ill of the dead.”

“The dead are dead. I cannot hurt them,” he said, stiff and stern. “Nor can they hurt me. So why should I fear them? Or perhaps I should allow them to dictate my every move? Is that what you believe?”

Gilbert said nothing, and turned his cold, steel gaze away from him, and eliciting nothing but an amused huff from Felix.

“As I thought. You’re a coward. You’re letting dead men keep you from your living daughter. You and my father would have had an understanding,” he said as he leaned his back against the wall.

Again there was no response, his empty silence and equally vacant stare offering no hint of remorse.

How dare he.

Disgusted, he pushed off from the wall, circling the man to look him dead in the eye. “Do right by her. Do right by your wife. Coward.”

With that, he left.

Merriment in death was going to make him sick. 

—-

Ever since that day, he’d been avoiding the greenhouse. To look upon it was to dredge up the sting of her anger again, to open the wound she left when he’d lashed out. He deserved it, he knew. But it still stung.

Still, it was not something he could entirely avoid. He did have to pass by the place where his heart had died every night before bed, and it was beginning to drive him mad. He could hear her, her siren song was too strong, the pull she had over him was infuriating, intoxicating. Why did he do this to himself?

Perhaps this was why he never wanted to fall in love. Like everything else, he couldn’t do it in halves. His whole being was devoted, and he was worse for it. Drown it, burn it, douse it in blood, nothing seemed to quell that emptiness, that part of him that would sing alongside her when he walked past.

So he stopped attempting to kill it. He sang along with her when he walked past the greenhouse for the evening, he hummed her songs to himself as he practiced his dance routine for the upcoming battles, he sang aloud her words as he trained alone, giddy with the feeling of it. Each battle they worked as a pair, moving in such unison it became something of its own dance; him rallying her, her destroying enemy after enemy from a distance, safely hidden behind him. She was the sun, he the earth, working in such a harmony: her song in his ear when he needed strength, the spring in her step when he danced for her.

Yet off the battlefield he still made a tremendous effort to avoid her, afraid of rejection once more. How he she achieved it? To make someone so bold, so strong in his conviction feel so powerless?

Perhaps he had done it to himself, he mused. He’d made himself weak for her.

And despite every piece of himself hating weakness, he found he didn’t mind. 

—-

The knock on his door was too familiar. “Felix?”

“It’s open,” he said without looking up from his papers. Damn his father for dying and leaving him so much unfinished business in their territory, this would be the death of him. His heart quivered in anticipation. What affront had he committed to have her finally breach the invisible barrier between them?

She stepped inside, looking pensive as she closed the door behind her. “You’re letting me in,” she noted.

“I am. What of it?”

“It’s just… new. That’s all,” she said, casting nervous glances to all corners of the room.

“What business do you have here?” he asked. No sense in frivolities, she needed something. Why else would she bother?

“I don’t have business,” she said. “I guess I just wanted to say thank you for what you said before. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but truth be told I wasn’t ready to.”

A pause. Surely he misheard her. “What?”

“What you said about my father, about how I can’t change him. I wasn’t ready to accept it. But it’s true,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around herself in defeat. He hated that worried brow, that quirk in her lips as they fought a frown. “I can’t force him to change. He has to want it. I was just so wrapped up in my belief that I could fix things, that I let it hurt me. But after seeing what happened at Fort Merceus, how Mercedes has been beside herself with the belief that she could have fixed Emile…”

She choked, her words strangled as she fought tears, and his heart shattered all over again.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said as he stood to look her in the eye. “You’re a woman of your own convictions, I shouldn’t have attempted to push my own.”

He had to scoff. This was perhaps the first time in his life he’s apologized for anything. She really did make him weak.

“I tried and tried and tried… and he’s still as stubborn as always. And I thought about what you said. It’s time I live for me.”

“Whatever you hope to achieve, you know I support you,” he said tentatively.

“That’s… partially why I’m here. I want you to teach me to dance,” she said, barely above a whisper. “If you’ll have me.”

The smile on his lips was perhaps the first genuine one in months. “Of course.” 

—-

With the end of the war drawing near, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat bittersweet with it all. The fighting would cease, and so would his contact with her.

She’d been polite enough to invite him to the wedding, and he’d been rude enough to decline in the most polite way possible. To see the one person he wanted more than strength itself with someone else would shatter him. He was jealous, and he wouldn’t deny it.

So he would dance alone, and hope that her husband could appreciate her songs.

But to dance at her wedding was a pain he knew he could not bear.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been sitting on this for a month and decided no more. Pretty much just me lamenting that I couldn’t get the paired ending I wanted.


End file.
